Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (17 page)

Sydney slid into her seat at the breakfast table and noted Velma hadn’t set a place for Tim.

The housekeeper plunked a plate onto the table in front of her. “Tim got an early start. Always does on Sundays. Tim goes over and rings the bells to wake folks who don’t have clocks, then sticks around to open windows and such. He’s that kind of man—the solid, strong-and-silent kind. But he gets more done at church and around Forsaken than three other men put together.”

“I see.”

Velma slid into a chair and took a slurp of coffee immediately after praying. “D’you know how to drive a buckboard?”

“No.”

“Then you’re gonna learn today by driving me to church.” The housekeeper shook her head. “Doesn’t seem right, me taking you to church and lying to everyone about you.”

“I could stay home.”

“Nope.” Velma gave her the gimlet eye.

Desperation clawed at her. “But you’ve decided to let me continue on as I have, haven’t you?”

Velma didn’t give a prompt reply.

The bite Sydney had just swallowed threatened to come back up. Her eyes pled with the housekeeper.

“For now.” Velma’s voice sounded anything but reassuring.

Even so, Sydney took a long, deep breath to steady herself.

“This pretense of yours—I reckon it’s your business. But I’m not going to lie.”

“I won’t ask you to. You can say . . .” Sydney strained for a moment to concoct something. “You can say I’m Fuller’s kin. That’s truthful.”

“Hmpf.” Velma salted her hash browns. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You had to work to come up with what to say. Tells me you don’t indulge in lies or deception.”

“Of course I don’t!” Just as soon as she spoke, Sydney bowed her head. “Truthfully, this whole masquerade bothers me. But I don’t have a choice. You even agreed with me—Uncle Fuller would send me away.” Her nose tingled and tears welled up. “I . . . I can’t explain it. I’ve never even met him, but I have to be with whatever is left of my fam—” Her voice cracked.

“Family.” Velma finished for her. “Fuller was pleased as punch to know he had kin. He’s got a blind spot when it comes to dealing with women. I guess in this situation, your need is bigger than his whims.”

Sydney tried to blink away her tears. Until now, she hadn’t admitted to herself how desperately she longed to still have a family. Her lips moved, but almost no sound came out. “Thank you.”

“But I’m putting you on notice here and now, missy.” Velma shook her finger. “If Tim tries to tangle with you at all, I’m gonna spout off. I won’t have you getting hurt. I owe Fuller that much. He’d be mad as a wet hornet if I let that big galoot clobber you.”

Sydney nodded.

Velma taught her how to drive a buckboard on the way to church. “What’re you going to do about singing?”

Sydney laughed. “I’m tone deaf. I simply read along and don’t sing because the sounds coming out of my mouth would frighten small children.”

Velma slanted her a sideways look. “Then maybe you could play the accompaniment.”

Shaking her head, Sydney confessed, “My music tutor quit. He told mama in all his years, he’d never once failed to teach a pupil a passable skill—until me.”

“You danced just fine the other night.”

“Thank you, but I was moving to the music, not making it. Do you always take your Bible to church?”

“You don’t?” Velma looked shocked.

Sydney shrugged. “At home the vicar reads the verses aloud. Our family Bible sits in the parlor. It’s quite substantial, so carrying it seems pretentious.”

During the service, Sydney wasn’t sure what to think about these Americans and how they worshiped God. The hymns were the same, but thereafter things went differently. One of the older men went to the altar, turned, and spoke about parishioners! He mentioned ailments, concerns, and needs. At her church back home, such things were private. The preacher then prayed. He specifically asked for the Lord to see to each and every person who’d been mentioned.

Instead of staying at the pulpit, the parson sat back down, and Big Tim stood there and read from the Bible.

Sydney could hardly imagine she was hearing the story correctly. This wasn’t something she’d heard before. A man named Jacob pretended to be his older brother. By wearing Esau’s clothing and using animal skin to seem hairy, he fooled his father and received his brother’s birthright.

What a dreadful man. He had no honor
. In the next instant, Sydney looked down at herself.
I’m wearing clothes that I shouldn’t be in
so I can trick someone, too
.

She fought the urge to squirm.

I’m not stealing anything. That’s the difference
.

Reverend Bradle preached in an animated voice. Instead of sounding somber and profound, he preached as if he were talking to a room of dear friends. There was no mistaking he spoke with authority. Instead of coasting off into a daydream as she used to back home, Sydney hung on every word.

As she left the church, Sydney looked around. She’d met most of the people at the Founder’s Day celebration. A nod of recognition at a distance or a handshake worked well. Sydney enjoyed seeing the neighbors again. They all seemed like good, decent folks. She escorted Velma out to the wagon, then frowned. The horse wasn’t standing right. Seeking out Tim was the last thing she wanted to do.

Gulp stood a ways off. He shuffled from one boot to the other and even the tips of his ears glowed bright red as a woman spoke to him. He glanced over at Sydney.

She made a beeline toward him. “Madam, please do accept my apologies for intruding. Gulp, it appears the horse to the buckboard is going lame.”

“We can’t have that!” Gulp wheeled around and practically ran away.

Sydney found herself the subject of squint-eyed scrutiny. “Gulp’s very knowledgeable regarding horses. I’d best see what there is to learn.”

The moment Sydney reached Gulp’s side, he stooped over, pulled up the horse’s right front hoof, and pretended to study it with great concentration. “Kid, you done that real smooth. Gotta hand it to you. You pulled me away before that old battleaxe started harping.”

“Widow O’Toole,” Sydney guessed aloud.

“Yep.” Gulp muttered, “She’s lookin’ this way. Frown and act like something’s awrong.” Gulp pulled a knife from his belt.

Sydney could scarcely credit it—the man wore a weapon into a house of worship?

“I know you coulda dug this bitty little stone outta the hoof.” Gulp pried it free. “But you saved me.”

“Forsaken’s men take care of each other.”

He shot her a grin. “Kid, there’s hope for you.”

“Are the two of you going to stand there jawing all afternoon?” Velma tapped her foot impatiently. “I left a roast in the oven.”

“We’re done here.” Gulp let go of the horse’s leg and straightened up. “That could have bruised him, so go at a walk on the way home.”

Sydney climbed onto the buckboard while Gulp helped Velma, then headed toward his own mount. They’d no more driven fifteen feet than Velma elbowed Sydney. “What did you think about the sermon?”

“The reverend seems very knowledgeable and lively.”

“He is. But I didn’t ask about him. I asked about what he talked about. I figured you might latch on to something he said about Jacob.”

“I did.” Sydney nodded. “Jacob and I hold something in common.”

“Pretending to be someone you’re not?”

Sydney acted as if she hadn’t heard Velma. “Jacob and I were each our mother’s favorite. Then, too, our fathers doted on someone other than us.”

“Your daddy didn’t baby you?” Velma couldn’t hide her astonishment.

Talking about Father wasn’t easy, but Sydney couldn’t bear the thought that someone might think ill of him. “He was so besotted with Mama, everyone else paled in comparison. Father came to America and met her here. They married the very next day.”

“Impulsive rascal.”

“They adored each other. I hoped I’d be as fortunate in finding a mate.”

“Hmpf.” Velma gave her a scathing look. “That’s not likely with you tromping around in those duds.”

“Just as well. I came to America to explore the possibility of marriage, but things went terribly wrong.”

Velma grabbed the reins. “Whoa!” The buckboard jerked to a halt. “Are you running from somebody?”

“It’s of no consequence.”

“We’re not budging until you tell me the truth.”

Sydney didn’t say anything.

“I’m waiting.”

“Velma, your roast is going to burn.”

The housekeeper gave her a disgruntled look, then a sly smile lifted her lips. “I’m not above blackmail. Either you tell me what’s going on, or I’ll tell Big Tim—”

“Very well.” Sydney glowered at her. “All the gentleman cared about was making an advantageous marriage so he could gain access to lucrative dealings with the peerage. When I arrived, he couldn’t be bothered to meet my ship or spend any time with me. After a single week of ignoring me, he addressed me by the wrong name and expected me to wed him the very next day. I was supposed to accept being left to wander museums alone on our wedding trip whilst he saw to business matters.”

Velma didn’t react.

Feeling completely adrift, Sydney let out a small sigh. “I also learned he has a paramour he planned to keep even after our marriage. I couldn’t pledge my heart to such a man, so here I am.”

Nodding sagely, Velma declared, “And here you’ll stay. Doesn’t matter to me whether you’re in britches or a bustle. We’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about that scoundrel.”

“Thank you, Velma. But until my birthday, I’m wearing britches.”

Bam! Bam! Bam!
“Wake up, kid.”

Sydney rolled out of bed, noting the sun had barely broken over the horizon. The very thought of Tim Creighton thundering into her room and dumping her out of bed again served as ample motivation. She’d become adept at dressing quickly and racing downstairs.

Tim seemed preoccupied at breakfast. Sydney didn’t mind. After shoveling in his food at record speed, Tim shoved away from the table. “We’re rotating the stock to another pasture.

Hathwell, ride with Boaz. The fence on the west edge of the property is looking weak.”

Sydney nodded to acknowledge the order.

“Don’t be in too big of a hurry or careless. Barbed wire can cut you to ribbons.” Tim scowled at her. “Talking of ribbons. That hair of yours looks girly. Next time you’re in town, have the barber whack it.”

“He will not!” Velma poked at Big Tim’s shoulder. “That there is stylish. Little Lord Fauntleroy—”

“Is a fictional kid. Syd is—”

“Handsome just the way he is.” Velma shook her finger at Tim. “Stop fretting and leave Sydney alone. He’s pulling his weight around here.”

“He doesn’t weigh much.” Tim shot a look at Sydney. “You’ve got to eat more. Maybe Doc ought to check you out.”

“That’s not necessary.” Sydney grabbed her coffee.

“Completely ridiculous,” Velma agreed. “Syd’s appetite has improved since he first got here. He’s eating loads more.”

Tim’s brows
vee
-ed. “But it’s not making any difference. Maybe he’s got worms.”

Sydney choked on her coffee.

“Tapeworms. That’s the problem.” Tim nodded. “I’m sure of it. Copper’s the cure for it. Nature’s vermifuge.” He strode from the room.

Velma slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Sydney gave Velma an it’s-not-funny look. “If he brings in horse liniment again, he’ll be the one who needs to see the doctor.”

Tim returned and slapped something down on the table. A self-assured smile creased his face. “There. Swallow that. It’ll cure what ails you.”

She glanced down and jolted. “I’m not about to swallow a coin!”

“It’s just a penny. Either you down it, or you go see Doc.” Tim folded his arms across his chest. “Decide.”

Velma burst out laughing and left the room.

Sydney stared at the penny.
I can’t go see the doctor. He’ll see
straight through my ruse. But how will I ever manage to—
“Drink it on down.”

Grasping for any excuse, however slim, she rasped, “What if it gets stuck?”

“I’ll smack you on the back.”

Sydney realized Tim would stand there until she swallowed the coin. She picked it up and groused, “Cow brains, puke on maggots, and now a penny. And you wonder why my appetite is off.”